Deadfall (34 page)

He's that way. In the beginning, he told me if I talked about the poaching gigs he would kill me, grind up my body, and feed me to his dogs.”

Mac leaned toward the desk and picked up the phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“The Multnomah County D.A. I'll talk about a deal on your drunk-driving charge and parole violation in exchange for your testimony. Unfortunately, due to your criminal history, no judge in his right mind would sign a warrant using your testimony as probable cause. It would have helped if you had given us this information before you were jammed up. Now it will sound like you're making up stuff to save your skin.”

“I'm not, I swear.”

“I'm going to need hard evidence, Troy.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I think you're telling the truth, and I'm going to try to convince the D.A. While I'm doing that, I want you to think about how you're going to get me on one of those hunts with Jayce.”

30

T
ELL ME AGAIN why you think this Troy Wilson guy is so believable?” Sergeant Frank Evans paced back and forth in his office. “Our informant has arrests for manufacturing dope, bribery, theft, not to mention the DUIIs. There's no way a judge in his right mind will sign a search warrant based on this character's testimony. We can't establish anything close to the reliable informant standard a judge would demand.”

Mac listened impatiently, waiting for a chance to talk. “I understand that, Sarge, but I have a plan.”

Kevin leaned against the doorway to Frank's office, sipping his morning coffee and grinning like a Cheshire cat. He had been in Mac's hot seat many times before and was enjoying watching his partner squirm. Kevin had postponed his announcement so Mac could share his pertinent information with Sarge.

“Oh, you have a plan.” Frank cast a derisive look at Kevin, who raised his cup in a salute. “That makes me feel so much better. Does it you?” He shot Mac the same look. “You actually want me to cough up five grand in confidential informant funds?”

Mac nodded. “That's what it'll take.”

Frank shook his head. “This had better be the plan of the century. There is no way I'm going to the lieutenant without justification up the wazoo. Your guy didn't say squat until he was hauled into jail, and now he wants to be your saving grace. How do you know Wilson was even in the area at the time our victim went missing? How do we know this Jayce character even exists? And how do you know Wilson isn't the trigger man?” Frank stopped and bent over Mac, his lined face inches away. “So tell me this plan of yours, Detective.”

When Sergeant Evans backed off, Mac cleared his throat and sat up straight. He glanced at Kevin, hoping his partner would at least give him some moral support. He had a hunch that Kevin, standing there wearing that dopey grin of his, was praying for him.

I could use a prayer this morning.
Mac cleared his throat again. “I was getting to that, Sarge. I talked to the D.A. and convinced him to give Wilson a shot. There will be no deal on the DUII charge and the probation violation. The troop cited him for the charge and his P.O. agreed to hold off on the custody situation while we're working on the case.”

“So how does this involve five thousand in confidential informant funds?” Frank lowered himself into his chair.

“I want Wilson to book me a hunt with this Jayce, or whatever his name is, so I can check him out and get a look at the gun he packs—maybe pick up some prints. According to Wilson, Jayce always carries a revolver with a scope; he uses it to knock animals out of the trees when the dogs corner them. We're not going to get any kind of a search warrant at this point. Heck, we have no idea who this guy is. I want to get a look at him. We need an identity. Sounds like this guy is pretty secretive, taking off his license plates and never discussing business over the phone. Wilson is going to set me up on a hunt, and I'll hopefully get a shot at a bear or a cougar.”

“And you expect the citizens of Oregon to fund your safari so you can get a look at the gun Jayce carries?”

“More than that, Sarge. I talked with Trooper Ferroli in our wildlife office about how they work poaching stings with unlawful guides. He tells me he can loan me one of their .308 rifles they use on undercover missions, one that already has the firing pin strike entered into IBIS for identification. Trooper Ferroli will give me some hand-load rounds with just enough powder to move a special copper bullet down the barrel, but not enough to kill an animal the size of a bear or cougar. The bullet is a hollow jacket that will frag once it leaves the barrel. Like I said, it won't kill or severely injure a big-game animal. With any luck we'll tree a big animal, and I'll take a shot with the altered rifle that will only wound it. I'll pretend to have a malfunction. Hopefully Jayce will make the kill shot with the suspect gun, and we'll get a bullet for comparison, and get some prints. At the least I'll get my own probable cause for a search warrant for the gun, instead of relying on the informant's information.”

“You lost me.” Frank sounded a little calmer this time. “How does that give you probable cause for a search warrant on a murder case?”

“It doesn't for a murder charge, but it does for a ‘hunting game mammal prohibited method' charge.”

“A hunting what?”

“Hunting game mammal prohibited method is a crime, and we can establish probable cause to search a residence or a vehicle. Hunting big game in Oregon with dogs or hunting them after dark is a misdemeanor. On top of that, bears and cougars are not even in season. We book our trip with the five thousand in flash money, and I go on the hunt. Even if we don't kill anything, I'll write a search warrant on the guiding and poaching charges for a solid search warrant foundation. In the affidavit we go looking for our marked buy money, the weapons, and records of other illegal guiding.”

Frank sat back in his chair, hands folded and resting on his desk. At least he wasn't yelling or telling Mac it was impossible.

“It's risk-free on the money, Sarge,” Mac assured him. “We'll recover it the next day. The only thing we're risking is my hide.”

Frank picked up his phone, punched in some numbers, and leaned back in his chair. “Hey, Lieu; this is Evans. I need to talk to you about some buy money. Hang on a second, will ya?” Frank cupped the phone with his hand. “You two get out of here. I want to see your tactical plan on my desk in an hour. Let me know when this Wilson guy checks in. I'll convince the lieutenant we need the funds; you guys get me the details on paper. I want a plane up and at least four troops on the ground while you're playing big-game hunter, Mac. We don't have enough for an exparte order on a body wire, but I want you wearing a GPS locator at all times.”

“Those things are too bulky, Sarge,” Mac grumbled. The Global Positioning System was as big as a pack of cigarettes. “It's a real pain.”

“No buts, Mac—you wear it or you don't go. I don't care if you hide it where the sun don't shine, I'm not losing track of you in those woods.”

“Yes, sir. Thanks for your support.” Mac grinned as he turned to leave the office.

“Close the door on your way out.” Frank flicked his hand and went back to the conversation.

“Yes, sir.” Mac eased the door shut.

“Good job, partner.” Kevin patted him on the back. “For your sake, I hope this works out.”

“Me too.” He had a lot riding on this one.

MAC SPENT THE REST OF THE AFTERNOON working with Chris Ferroli on the tactical plan. A fixed-wing plane equipped with the GPS monitor to keep track of Mac was placed on standby for the operation. Chris briefed Mac on poaching operations and some of the language he should use when hunting the animals.

Mac welcomed the refresher on the tactics used by the big-game poacher. It had been years since he'd worked a wildlife assignment, and even then his experience had been limited to fisheries enforcement.

“Avoid cop slang, Mac. And don't ask too many questions. We don't want to make Jayce suspicious.” Chris went on to give Mac a brief anatomy lesson on big-game animals. “If you get a shot at a bear, aim for the shoulder. Even with a regular rifle load it would be hard to knock a bear down with those aim points—their skull and shoulder muscles are so thick.”

“What about a cougar?”

“Hope for a bear. A big cat will spook and run, even with dogs. If you don't kill it, you'll have a chase on your hands. If you do get a cat, pretend to miss it so you don't send a wounded cat out on the public.”

“Can't I just pretend to miss and have Jayce fire?”

“You could risk it, but I'd stick to plan A. This guy will get suspicious if you don't fire a round, even more suspicious if you miss a four-hundred-pound bear at ten yards. If the suspect sees that you're getting a shot at a trophy bear, then don't shoot at the head; go for the front shoulder. Aim forward to avoid any vitals. The heart and lungs are right behind the shoulder, so be careful in case the bullet does penetrate.”

“Why not the head?”

“We measure trophy bears by the size of their skull, so you don't want to shoot there or he'll think something is up. It would be like shooting the antlers on a trophy elk.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“Let's take a look at the rifle.” Chris produced a wood stock .308 Savage from the gun locker. “We'll be able to trace any bullets fired from this gun, so don't worry about that. The lab already has it in the database. This is the last round I want you to load into the magazine well. It has a thin red line on the casing. See?” Chris handed the cartridge to Mac to examine.

“Why the last?”

“These other rounds are factory and will shoot like any other cartridge, so keep them separate.” Chris handed him a box of shiny cartridges. “This little beauty has a slightly enlarged casing. Make sure you really slap the bolt home when you close the action on it.

Load it last so it comes out of the magazine first; the gun holds five, so it should be your fifth round. When the bullet is discharged from the rifle, the already tight-fitting casing will expand from the powder burn and will render the extractor useless in pulling it out to make it look like a stove-pipe malfunction. That should convince even the hard-core poachers you aren't scamming them. We've used this technique before.”

Mac examined the rifle, going over the procedure a couple of times with Chris. They were about finished when Mac received a 911 page from a cell number he recognized immediately as his own.

Wilson didn't have a cell phone, so Mac had loaned him his department phone to page him when the hunt was set up. “This is our guy.” Mac stepped past Chris to use the phone in the wildlife office.

“Yeah,”Wilson answered.

“This is McAllister; you paged?”

“You wanted me to let you know when I spoke with Jayce.

Well, I left him a message on his cell phone and he got back to me.

The hunt's on, man. Like I told you before, he won't discuss business over the phone, so I met him down at Sheri's Restaurant in Troutdale over a cup of coffee and set up the hunt.”

“Good.” Mac gave Chris a thumbs-up. “How did it go?”

Troy's breathing sounded a little ragged. He was probably nervous. If this Jayce was as bad as Troy indicated, Mac could see why. He just hoped Troy wouldn't let his nerves get the best of him. A slip-up could cost Mac and Troy their lives.

“He was a little concerned,” Troy said, “but it went pretty smooth. I've brought in customers before, so it wasn't anything new. I told him you were a friend of Charlie Bonner. I'd set Charlie up a few times, so the connection is a natural one.”

“Unless Jayce talks to Charlie.” Mac frowned.

“That might be a little tough. Charlie's dead.”

“What happened to him?” Mac had visions of Jayce shooting his client in the back.

“Old Charlie was a rancher out by Hermiston. He was killed in a skidder accident while he and his son were thinning logs last month. A widow maker from a previous logger fell on him when he was moving his skidding to another log.”

“Widow maker?”

“You know, when a logger fells a tree and it only leans into the next live tree and doesn't come all the way down, they call it a widow maker. Anyway, old Charlie isn't going to spill the beans.”

“How old was Charlie? Tell me about him so I don't trip up.”

“He was in his sixties, lived with his wife on a fourteen-hundred-acre spread near Hermiston. His place was mainly a hay farm, but he had some timbered acres. He and Helen have three grown daughters and a son, all living in the valley now. Since it sounds like you don't know anything about trees or farming, I'd stick to something else. Maybe, say you were an investor or something and were taking care of Charlie's businesses.”

“That would work. How many times had Charlie been out?” Mac asked.

“Three times, got two nice bruins and one dandy male cat. All three are hanging in his place in Hermiston. None are record breakers, but they got nice coats, no rubs on the bear hides.”

“When is the hunt, Troy? Where do we meet?”

“Tonight, we have to go tonight. Jayce has a bait barrel . . .”

“Bait barrel?”

“Yeah. Bears are mainly scavengers. He puts out a barrel filled with dead things to attract them. He's got one on top of the bluff.

We were going to go out this week by ourselves looking for bear galls, so Jayce decided to take you along. The hunt is still five grand, and we keep the gall bladder if you shoot a bear. I'll meet you in Corbett, in front of the Grange Hall, and take you to our meeting place. That's how we work things. Plan on being there at seven o'clock sharp. Don't be late.”

“I'll be there. Just make sure you tell me if anything changes.”

“We still good with the D.A.?”